


i burn, i pine

by daidalos



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Shrunkyclunks, not your average florist au, not your average tattoo au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-26 20:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13865562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daidalos/pseuds/daidalos
Summary: Steve tries to play matchmaker for Wanda, and promptly falls head over heels for Bucky, the attractive tattoo artist in Daisy's studio.Everything would make a lot more sense if James Barnes, S.H.I.E.L.D. analyst, actually was a tattoo artist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a cute little fic idea I had, playing around with two of my favorite tropes: tattoo artist/florist! Misunderstandings and mistaken identities will abound, you have been warned. 
> 
> Title is from Shakespeare!

Later, Steve would say it was practically Shakespearean, their little comedy of errors, and the unnecessary pining they had caused one another. Bucky would look at him, from his position on the opposite side of the overly large couch Stark had insisted on, and snort, shaking his head. “It’s more like a 90’s romcom, is what it is.”

And then Steve would tilt his head to the side, lips parted in that familiar look that his crash course in the 21st century hadn’t made it that far, because of course S.H.I.E.L.D wouldn’t have taken it upon themselves to inform their defrosted relic of the tenets of pop culture that kept the miserable planet afloat, and Bucky would reach for the remote with determination, shoving bare feet onto Steve’s lap, underneath the blanket that was draped over him, just to watch his boyfriend hiss and glare, because according to him, “Your feet are always too damn cold Buck.”

“No time like the present to give you a sexuality crisis over Heath Ledger singing on some high school bleachers.”

*****

It went like this.

Steve didn’t play favorites. Really, he didn’t, because each of his teammates were different, and he had different relationships with all of them. Tony was brilliant, and got underneath his skin like no one ever had, but Steve was growing better about recognizing Tony’s overtures of friendship and clear moments of emotion, sandwiched between insults and layers of snark. Bruce was a calming presence, and enjoyable to be around, whenever Steve needed to dim out the noise of the brave new world. Thor was impossible to dislike, with his wide smile and his clear zeal for life that was so at odds with the war-scarred soldiers Steve had been torn away from. Clint was insightful about people in a way that seemed at direct odds with his lack of spatial awareness, given the near permanent band-aids that dotted his face. Most days Steve thought Natasha was as surprised by their friendship as he was, she was just much better at hiding it than Steve. Sam was a rock for Steve, encouraging him to communicate his thoughts and emotions, but just as easily rolling his eyes and bantering with him during their daily runs. Vision was still very much an unknown entity, and though Steve hadn’t been able to get to know James Rhodes very well, he kept Tony somewhat sane, and that alone made him a hero in Steve’s eyes. He just didn’t have favorites of his teammates.

(But Wanda was his favorite.)

He would deny it until he was blue in the face, if any of the other Avengers confronted him about it, but they never would, because it was obvious how close the two of them had grown. Tony, in one of his quieter moments, had once asked Steve if Wanda reminded him of someone from back home. From before.

A soft smile had spread across Steve’s face. He could understand why Tony had asked the question. Everyone knew that sometimes, when Steve was watching Natasha spar, he had to look away, seeing a flash of red lipstick that belonged to a different woman, a different time. Sam reminded Steve of the Howling Commandos, the war buddies who Steve still called and visited, on their better days. No one ever spoke of it, least of all Tony or Steve, but there were nights, like that one for instance, when Steve sat across from Tony in his lab, watching him work, and trying to ground himself in the now, fingers digging into the metal table, focusing on which Stark was standing across from him. Tony never said anything about the dents that Steve inevitably left in the table, and Steve never said a word about the glass of scotch Tony poured himself, the same brand Steve recognized from Howard’s labs all those years ago, that felt like only months to Steve, even though it had been years now for him too. Steve knew the ones he was closest to sometimes seemed like ghosts of the past.

“She doesn’t remind me of anyone at all.”

Wanda hadn’t grown up with stories about Captain America and his Howling Commandos. She had been with HYDRA, at the time when he had been defrosted. To Wanda, he was just steve. He was the other person in the Tower who didn’t always get Tony’s references, or understand how cable worked. When Thor was on planet, the three of them would often gather for movie nights, to catch up on the pop culture that seemed to be a second language, (or seventh, in Natasha’s case) but those instances were rare.

Tony had begun to joke that Steve and Wanda were joined at the hip, and usually it was true. Today just so happened to be one instance in which Steve was going it alone, though Wanda remained very much present in the form of the Stark phone in his pocket that was buzzing incessantly.

Steve was ignoring it. He had already spent forty-five minutes at the flower shop, listening to Wanda agonize over the phone over which bouquet to select. She had FaceTimed him, and for ten minutes, Steve had stood awkwardly in the middle of the shop, moving his phone between the two choices. At Steve’s suggestion, Wanda had finally decided upon the bouquet of of O’Hara roses and ranunculus flowers, and Steve had paid the clerk, who seemed equal parts amused and exasperated, before hurrying away. Wanda had continued to text and call him, as Steve made his way down the street, but he refused to pick up.

Wanda had met Daisy Johnson in the garage of Avengers tower, examining Steve’s bike with a sort of reverence. As soon as realizing Steve was the owner of said bike, Daisy had immediately pestered him with questions, which he answered happily. Daisy had picked up on the fact that he was Captain America in about five seconds, despite the fact that his identity was top secret, and she was no longer a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, let alone one with high enough clearance to know who Captain America was.

She had chatted with Steve and Wanda for a while, revealing that she had just been visiting to return some of the gadgets Tony had bestowed upon her, during her days as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. She explained to Steve and Wanda that after the fall, her heart hadn’t truly been in it, when the organization began to rebuild. It was a sentiment that Steve could certainly sympathize with.

Wanda had finally managed to ask Daisy what she was doing now, and with a blinding smile, the woman had handed them her business card, advertising a tattoo parlor in Red Hook. When she tugged on a helmet and swung her legs over a motorcycle of her own, Steve had been mildly concerned that Wanda would faint next to him. He made sure to pull out his phone, because Natasha told him that Vine was making a comeback, and Steve needed to get the jump on his teammates.

But Wanda hadn’t fainted, though it had been a close thing. She did turn bright red and grow defensive, any time Steve teased her about the exchange over the next week. It was when she began to grow quiet that Steve realized he needed to do something. He called the tattoo parlor and asked for Daisy’s number, on behalf of Wanda. She had been charmed, and handed it over immediately, and the two young women had been texting nearly non-stop.

Only texting.

Everyone in the Tower knew about it. Bruce was staying firmly out of the matter altogether, claiming it wasn’t his area of expertise. Technically it was none of their specialties - or any of their business - but that hadn’t stopped the rest of the Avengers from weighing in.

Tony had suggested hiring a skywriter, and for the second time, Steve pulled out his phone on video mode, ready to record. Wanda’s face had done something impressive, draining of blood completely, but her fury built just as rapidly, and she had marched over to Tony. Whatever she whispered to him - even Steve hadn’t been able to hear, with his enhanced hearing - had done the job. Tony had been the one to pale, and he backed away.

Clint had offered to stick a felt heart on one of his arrows, and shoot it at Daisy.

(“I wouldn’t actually shoot her!” Clint protested as soon as he realized everyone was glaring at him in disapproval and mild horror. “I meant I would shoot an arrow by her!”

“That’s better,” Bruce deadpanned.)

Thor had begun describing courting rituals on Asgard, and Clint had enjoyed a brief moment of victory, when the rest of the Avengers declared that Thor’s idea of delivering Daisy the head of a bilgesnipe to formally request to woo her, was decidedly worse than the arrows.

Rhodey, shockingly enough, had suggested Wand continue speaking to Daisy through text messages only. Steve had been momentarily surprised, before realizing that as Tony Stark’s best friend, Rhodey probably wasn’t any better at communication than the rest of them. Sam had rolled his eyes heavenward, and told Wanda to simply talk to Daisy in person. Natasha had offered to run surveillance, and follow Daisy around for a few days, as if she hadn’t already been doing that.

Natasha’s idea had been the frontrunner to Sam’s outrage - “I’m holding a group communication seminar for all of y’all, just you wait” - until Steve had sighed loudly from the couch, and Wanda had turned to him, expectant eyes wide and pleading.

“Flowers.”

There had been a series of coughs and scoffs that had Steve worried his proposal would be placed below even the bilgesnipe - whatever that was - but he stood firm, staring at Wanda. “You get her flowers.”

“Cap, come on, flowers on a first date - before a first date even, that’s just tacky!” Tony had protested, and Steve shook his head.

“This century has no idea how to do romance. You get her flowers, you ask her real nice if she’d like to go out to dinner with you -”

“Then you give her your letterman and ask her to go steady with you,” Tony interjected, and Steve rolled his eyes. The rest of the Avengers were also trying to get Steve, Wanda and Thor caught up on American popular culture. They were currently in the midst of fifties greaser films, and somehow, some of Steve’s teammates seemed to have gotten it in their heads that Steve would have been an All-American football star, never mind the fact that in high school, Steve had been a scrawny troublemaker with the bloodied knuckles to prove it.

Wanda was glancing between Steve and Tony, clearly uncertain. Although she and Steve were close, the ideas of dating seemed to have changed, since he went into the ice. But Steve knew he was right about this.

“All I’m saying Cap,” Tony continued, “Is that you only dated like, what, one girl in your entire life? So I’m really not sure you’re the best person for Scarlett O’Hara here to turn to for advice on this.”

Steve stood from the couch, stretching his arms in a way that was deliberately casual, and he shrugged, moving around the coffee table, and heading toward the elevator.

“You’re right Tony, I’ve only dated one person in my day.” Steve smiled, sharp and smug, and he caught the flicker of a smirk on Natasha’s face, before it smoothed over into a blank expression. “But that person just so happened to be Peggy Carter.”

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Wanda had decided to get Daisy flowers.

However, Steve’s plan had somewhat backfired, because Wanda had begged Steve to be the one to deliver the said flowers. He tried explaining to Wanda that the point was really for her to bring Daisy the gift, but Steve had given in easily. He could see how nervous Wanda was, and he really couldn’t blame her. It was nice to have some sort of assurance, before making a move.

Stopping outside the small storefront labeled Quake Tattoos, Steve took a deep breath. He was surprised to realize that he was nervous, and he had no stake in this game. (That wasn’t really true though, because the thought of Wanda smiling the way she did whenever she got a text from Daisy made his heart want to burst out of his chest, and he would do anything to make sure she smiled like that all the time.) This was important though, and he couldn’t allow himself to mess it up, not when Wanda was counting on him like this. He had never been spectacular at speaking with women, but there was something about this century’s frankness that made it a little bit easier, and Natasha had been trying to set him up on dates left and right. Besides, he would be speaking to Wanda’s Daisy. The two had gotten along just fine in Tony’s garage - how difficult could it really be?

Steve pushed open the frosted glass door, and promptly locked eyes with the most attractive man he had ever met, sitting on a stool and leaning against a table, twirling a tattoo gun expertly in a hand that almost looked like it was made of metal, and before Steve could stop himself, he dropped the gorgeous bouquet.

He really should have known better than to think this might be easy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here's Bucky!

James Barnes had a good job.

He was well aware of just how good his job was, and he was grateful for it. He hadn’t gone to college, enlisting in the army right out of high school to help his ma pay the bills of raising four children singlehandedly. Bucky had always been smart, with a mind for figures and machines, and that had paid off after his honorable discharge. S.H.I.E.L.D. had scooped him up rather quickly, and even though Bucky couldn’t do much for them as a sniper without an arm, he made for a pretty good analyst, and he learned at a fast pace. So Bucky Barnes knew that he had a good job.

It just wasn’t the job he wanted.

When he had first returned stateside, working for S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed like the most natural thing. A lot of men from his unit had gone on to be a part of the organization, though Morita had become a high school principal, or something respectable like that. It was good pay, and it gave Bucky a sense of purpose again, as well as plenty of access to resources that made the transition back into civilian life a little bit easier.

But as Bucky had continued to adjust, he realized it wasn’t really what he wanted to be doing. Really, he ought to have credited Daisy Johnson for that epiphany. Bucky had met her early on, and had charmed his way into a date with her. They figured out pretty quickly that they were better as friends, but Bucky had been there cheering her on when Daisy walked away from S.H.I.E.L.D. and decided to start from scratch. In fact, Bucky had been her first customer, using his hard-earned S.H.I.E.L.D. money to commission a tattoo to cover the thick ropes of scars that covered his left arm. Daisy had worked her magic, making his arm into what looked like actual metal, and Bucky had watched in wonder the whole time, admiring the passionate spark on Daisy’s face as she had worked.

Bucky was jealous of that feeling. Running numbers and data all day was fine, and it paid the bills on an apartment in Brooklyn - a luxury, to be sure - as well as leaving some left over for the rest of the Barnes’, but it didn’t inspire any sort of passion within Bucky. What he really wanted to be working with, rather than numbers, was flowers.

He had grown up listening to his mother’s stories of living in Romania, where her parents had run a small flower shop, a spot of brightness among the otherwise dreary street. Winifred’s eyes had always glazed over slightly, with a small smile curling at her lips, evoking a sense of longing within Bucky. At a young age, Bucky had learned the language of flowers, and had firmly declared that someday, he would bring his grandparents’ legacy to New York. But then George Barnes had died, and the Barnes family found themselves struggling to making ends meet.

The Army had seemed like the logical choice for Bucky. He was smart, and he had been accepted into a few different colleges, but he wasn’t the genius that his younger sister, Rebecca, was. None of the colleges he had applied to offered him enough in financial aid, and Bucky had seen the way his mother would nervously eye the pile of bills that had grown on the kitchen island. It hadn’t been a difficult decision, joining the Army, and even now, with Bucky’s scarred left arm, he didn’t regret it.

But some days, he would think of the flower shops he had visited as a teenager. Bucky had been known as something of a ladies’ man during high school, a reputation he carefully cultivated. If he ever had a hankering to give a nice bouquet to some of the guys around the school too, well, that had been nobody’s business but Bucky’s own, especially once he knew the Army was where he was going next. Bucky always showed up to every date with some flowers, meticulously selected for his date, examined carefully with scrutinizing eyes. A couple of the florists got to know Bucky, and expected him every Friday night, as he took a new girl dancing.

When he had returned to New York City, and been cleared to work, Bucky had considered picking up where he wanted to, but there were still bills to pay. Bucky hoped of owning his own florist’s shop someday, which meant he had an awful lot of saving to do, and working for S.H.I.E.L.D. was good money. But hanging around Daisy’s place always made Bucky a little wistful, thinking about what he someday hoped to achieve for himself.

“All I’m saying,” Bucky was complaining to his friend, twirling a tattoo gun around his finger, “Is that I don’t understand what all the secrecy is about! I mean, the man runs around in a skintight American flag. He’s not exactly a secret superhero.”

Daisy shot him a look of amusement, though she glared at the tool in Bucky’s hands, as if that would be enough to stop him. “Would you want your identity known, if you were the one wearing the skintight American flag while trying to save the world?” She pointed out.

Bucky let out a huff. “It’s not me we’re talking about here.” Daisy raised an eyebrow, which Bucky pointedly ignored. “And I’m not asking that he take an ad out in the New York Times. I’m just saying, it would be nice if his identity was declassified for us lowly analysts, who are trying to crunch the numbers and figure out the odds to _help_ him.”

There was a moment of silence, before Bucky opened his mouth to add the next thought that crossed his mind. But, before he could say a word, the bell jingled with the door, and the single most beautiful man Bucky had ever seen crossed the threshold, holding a bouquet of stunning flowers that would have taken Bucky’s breath away, had there been any air left in his lungs.

And then he dropped them.

Instinctively, Bucky let out a wordless cry, raising slightly from the stool he had been perched on, and the man flared bright red, and quickly stooped to retrieve the flowers. When he straightened back up, his cheeks were flushed darkly, highlighting his bright blue eyes and shock of blonde hair. Bucky felt his mouth go dry at the sight, before realizing that he was staring.

He quickly tore his gaze away, but instead found Daisy staring at him with obvious amusement. She knew Bucky’s expression, when he was interested in someone, and the man who had walked through holding flowers was definitely interesting.

The man cleared his throat, and made his way over to the counter, holding the flowers determinedly, his ears still an attractive pink. “Daisy, these are for you,” he announced in a deep voice, and Bucky’s heart sank slightly. Of course he would be bringing flowers for Daisy. She was a catch, funny and outgoing and with two working arms. Bucky glanced down at his left arm, the scars covered by the inked metal plates, and placed the tattoo gun on the counter, stuffing his hand in his pocket to hide the trembling fingers that resulted from too much strain in one day.

Daisy was oblivious to Bucky’s disappointment, and instead squealed, accepting the flowers happily. “Thank you, thank you!” She cried, turning and hurrying into the back, clearly in search of some sort of vase. This left Bucky alone with the blonde figure, and he forced a bright smile onto his face.

“So, you and Daisy?” Bucky raised his eyebrows, and gave the man a very obvious once-over, hoping that it would read as a threatening gesture, and not an excuse to check him out. Which - well, it _was_ , but Bucky cut a rather intimidating figure himself. He had always been quite fit, but the Army had made him into a wall of muscle. The nerve damage in his left arm somewhat detracted from the intimidation factor, but the man didn’t know anything about that.

He coughed awkwardly, and blushed again, and Bucky found himself wondering just how far down the blush went.

“Um no, no I’m not - Daisy and I aren’t - I,” he sputtered, and Bucky raised an eyebrow, a grin couched in the corner of his mouth as he watched the man fumble with his words. “I’m - ah - Steve.” That told Bucky nothing, and it must have shown on his face because the man - Steve - blushed again. “I’m just delivering, I mean I picked, I mean -”

“Oh!” Bucky said, understanding blossoming in his eyes. Steve wasn’t the admirer. “Who is the one giving Daisy flowers then?” He asked curiously.

Steve swallowed, and looked away. “I don’t think I should say,” he muttered to his feet, and suddenly it all became clear to Bucky. Steve was the _florist_ and he couldn’t very well give away his client’s personal information.

“It’s okay, I get it,” Bucky said, shooting Steve a wink, and the man looked profoundly grateful. “They’re some beautiful flowers by the way.” He was proud of himself for saying that without the slightest hint of jealousy.

“Thanks.” Somehow, when Steve smiled, he was even more attractive, and Bucky wanted to groan, momentarily blinded. Steve continued looking at Bucky, almost curiously - shyly - through his lashes, and Bucky suddenly realized that he had forgotten to give the man a name, like an idiot.

“My name is James Barnes,” Bucky said, reaching out his right hand to shake Steve’s. “But you can call me Bucky.” He had no idea why he had let that slip, and the snort of laughter he caught from the back room confirmed that it hadn’t been nearly as smooth as he might have hoped. 

Steve however, just looked at him with slight confusion. “Bucky?”

Bucky winced slightly. “Childhood nickname, comes from my middle name,” he said, waving it off as if it was nothing. As if the name was not one bestowed on him at a very young age, reserved only for family and the closest friends, the rare significant other. 

Steve’s face split into another grin, and Bucky almost wanted to tell him to stop. Jesus Christ, it was like looking at the sun. 

“It suits you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Now both of them were grinning like idiots, and that was exactly how Daisy found them, thirty seconds later when she emerged from the back. She raised an eyebrow at Bucky, but he pointedly ignored it, and Steve blushed again.

“I hope you like the flowers,” he mumbled quietly, and Daisy let out a laugh of delight, and moved from around the counter to reach Steve. She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek - which immediately turned pink - and Bucky’s envy tripled. 

“Tell her I love them,” Daisy said sincerely, which momentarily distracted Bucky. Her? Bucky was just glad Daisy was moving on from the last asshole she had been with, but he hadn’t heard anything about who she might have been talking to recently. But it seemed like whoever it was, she knew both Daisy and Steve.

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Steve said, and then he looked directly at Bucky. “It was nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll run into you again?” He looked so earnestly hopeful at the prospect, that Bucky’s heart suddenly ached.

“Yeah, yeah maybe we will,” Bucky offered, wondering if the hope was quite as obvious on his expression as well. 

With a nod, Steve turned and walked out of the shop, letting the bell jingle again on his way out. Daisy whipped around and stared at Bucky with a shit-eating grin, and he let his head drop onto the counter with a loud groan.

“Fuck, I think I’m in love with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Kudos are appreciated, however I’m not looking for con crit <3 Also, you can now find me on [tumblr](http://rogersbrooklyn.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have any feedback, please let me know in the comments!


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